


Everything That Remains

by ronsenburg



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Mummy Fusion, Canon Disabled Character, Dogs are Excellent Wingmen, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Ignis is Actually a Scientist, M/M, Married Characters, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsenburg/pseuds/ronsenburg
Summary: A collection of requested drabbles and one-shots from mytumblr. Tags and warnings will be updated as new drabbles are included. So far, all Promnis across canon and various AUs.Latest drabble: Luna asks Prompto to dog-sit while she's out of the country. Prompto almost loses her at a dog park. Good thing Ignis is there to help.





	1. Adventurers

**Author's Note:**

> I recently opened my askbox on Tumblr to different prompts. I figured I'd post them here as I write them so they're all contained in one easy to find place!
> 
> First Prompt: "For the drabble requests, can you please do some sort of promnis adventurer au? :-0" which I obviously took to mean, "write about The Mummy."

“Him?” Ignis asks, his hand gesturing to the blond boy standing outside the tent with an incredulous wave. It is _hot_ , the kind of dry, scorching heat that carries on the breeze and makes the sand in the distance wave before his eyes. The shade of the tent does little to abate it, and Ignis can feel beads of sweat forming at his temple. He wipes them away with the back of his hand, pushing the hair out of his eyes impatiently as he does so.

Gladiolus sits on the edge of a large, wooden chest at the center of the room, one massive arm crossed over the other as he regards Ignis with some amusement in his amber eyes. “You needed a gun, right?” he says, his tone far too smug for Ignis’s liking, “There’s your gun.”

Ignis frowns gently. “He’s… not entirely what I had in mind.”

“Trust me, he’s the best shot I’ve got,” Gladiolus replies with a small shrug. Over Gladio’s shoulder, Ignis watches the boy spinning his revolver with a distracted ease, the gun tumbling backwards and forwards over his index finger in a hypnotic dance of flashing metal that Ignis knows cannot be safe. It is nearly impressive enough to quiet Ignis’s misgivings… until he places his fingers out to stop the rotation a moment too late and the gun goes clattering to the ground in a cacophony of metallic sounds and scattered rocks. He leans down quickly to retrieve it, casting furtive glances about to check if anyone had happened to see. When their eyes meet he winces, chuckling with some embarrassment, and gives a small wave. Ignis’s eyes slide back to Gladiolus, one brow raised and Gladio grits his teeth. “… Okay, so he’s the only one I can spare. You want my help or not?”

Ignis considers his options briefly and sighs.

Gladio smiles then, more a baring of teeth than a sign of mirth, and turns toward the open flap of the tent. “Blondie, get in here.”The boy jumps at the nickname, glancing curiously between Ignis and Gladio as he enters the room at what Ignis can only describe as a skip, stuffing the revolver into a holster at his hip in the process. Up close, Ignis can see that he is indeed as young as Ignis had feared, possibly several years younger than Ignis himself. Pale and obviously foreign, his skin is burnt pink at the shoulders and nose with dark freckles scattered across every other visible surface. He doesn’t look as though he’d survive so much as a day in the sun, let alone an entire excursion. The only indication of any competency Ignis can discern comes in the definition in his arms that becomes visible as he steps closer. Ignis’s frown deepens. “Prompto, Ignis Scientia,” Gladio says by way of introduction, waving his hands between them, “You’ll take him to the tomb, make sure he doesn’t die on the way back, the usual.”

Prompto’s bright blue eyes sweep over him, taking in Ignis in his entirety from the intricate stitching of his brushed leather oxfords to the pristine starching of his shirt. His gaze lingers longer than is entirely necessary at open button of Ignis’s collar and the small metal skull that dangles there and Ignis bristles instantly, hating how unsettled he feels under the weight of that stare. Prompto only laughs as he meets Ignis’s eyes. “You sure you’re up to it, Professor?” he teases, his tone entirely too casual, “There’s no laundromat out in the desert, you know.”

“Dr. Scientia.” Ignis corrects with a pointed look in Gladio’s direction. The other man holds up his hands in response, as if to say _‘his lack of manners aren’t my problem’_ and Ignis can feel the beginnings of a headache forming at the edges of his temple. “But, yes, I assure you I’m prepared for the challenge.”

Prompto’s eyebrows raise marginally, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but before he can reply Gladiolus stands. “We done here?” he asks. Ignis hesitates before nodding, officially consenting to the arrangement despite his better judgement. A strange sense of foreboding settles over him as he does. “Good.”

“Then I’ll walk you back to your hotel,” Prompto offers, and the amusement on his face only grows more discernible as Ignis opens his mouth to protest, “I need to know where to find you in the morning, right?”

Ignis only glowers in response.

The streets of Cairo are packed by the time they arrive back to the city proper, throngs of people milling about its streets like a living sea. The heat is somehow worse amongst the walls of the buildings that block the early evening breeze; Ignis feels nearly suffocated as he and Prompto press their way through the overcrowded avenues in search of the correct address.

“So, Doctor Scientia,” Prompto starts with a grin when they have cleared the worst of it, placing enough emphasis on the title that Ignis feels as though he’s being openly mocked, “you study mummies?”

“Anthropology.” Ignis corrects, tone clipped, and continues forward with a quickened stride, “And it’s a considerable bit more than mummies.”

Prompto keeps pace, his steps falling into rhythm at Ignis’s right without difficulty. “Okay… like what?”

Ignis considers ignoring the question entirely, unconvinced that the boy cares about the answer so much as filling the less than amicable silence that has fallen between them as they traverse the streets. However, he finds he cannot resist the chance to talk about his research despite the less than ideal circumstances- a flaw in his character, to be sure.

“One body can only tell so much.” Ignis explains, his tone carefully even to dissuade further ridicule, “I prefer to analyze text, sculptures, tools… anything that might indicate how societies of the past functioned as a whole. There should be plenty to study at the tomb.”

He can see Prompto nodding thoughtfully from the corner of his eyes as he speaks, apparently considering his words more closely than Ignis had anticipated. Ignis is unused to this sort of rapt attention, his enthusiasms more often than not brushed aside by all but his most fervent of colleagues at the University. He finds it odd, but not entirely unwanted, and the scowl that has been plastered across his face since arriving in Cairo softens somewhat.

“Then how come everyone else only cares about the King?” 

Ignis gives a small shrug. “Ghost stories are far more captivating, I suppose.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you.” Prompto laces his fingers together behind his head and leans back slightly as he walks. “People have been all over that site for a year. No one’s been able to find a way in.”

“Perhaps they were looking in the wrong places,” Ignis replies, and Prompto laughs as though hearing a joke, the sound so unrestrained and joyful that Ignis finds himself smiling faintly, though why, he isn’t entirely sure.

By the time the hotel comes into view the sun has begun to set behind them. The arched windows of the first floor have all been thrown open to the coming night, and Ignis can already hear the droning of several ceiling fans, the sound of their labored rotation carrying along with a soft breeze to where he and Prompto have stalled outside.

“You should get some sleep,” Prompto says, glancing over to Ignis as their pace slows, “The best time to leave is at dawn, before the sand gets too hot.”

Ignis nods, though he had expected as much. “At dawn, then.” He intends for it to be a statement of farewell, eager to leave the heat of the streets behind in favor of a cool shower and change of clothes, but Prompto makes no move to leave. He regards Ignis curiously instead, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels with an idle energy that Ignis finds distracting.

“You’re pretty sure you’ll find something, huh?” he asks eventually.

Ignis allows himself another small smile, though this time more in vanity than jest. “I’m rather good at what I do.”

“I’ll bet,” Prompto replies, laughing softly as he does.

Ignis pauses, certain that he’s being mocked once again. But when their eyes meet, Ignis detects no malice in the other’s features, only a slight flush splashed across already sun-kissed cheeks. Whether it is or a trick of the setting sun or a sign of some emotion, Ignis can’t be sure, but he finds himself strangely intrigued nonetheless. Before he can question further, however, Prompto has turned, hurrying off down the street fast enough that his call of “Dawn! Don’t forget!” is almost lost to the noise of the crowd.

Ignis watches him go, standing on the hotel steps long after Prompto has turned the the corner and is lost from view.

The sun continues to set, falling behind the the pale stone buildings that stretch off into the west. The sky above, now shaded somewhere between blue and violet, is nearly the same shade as Prompto’s eyes.

Why he finds himself thinking of that now, he isn’t entirely sure.

Ignis frowns.


	2. Adoption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Iggy stress baking while stuck at home waiting for an important phone call!! Adoption? Talcott? Give me all the Fluff!"
> 
> This didn't turn out as fluffy as I was hoping it would.

There is a letter waiting when Ignis returns home.

_Letter_ does not seem like an appropriate word, however. The envelope is over-sized, large enough to easily contain several sheets of paper, the thick card stock construction strongly hinting at its official contents.

“It’s from the adoption agency,” Noctis reads when Ignis offers it, pushing back familiar feelings of frustration at not being able to discern the return address himself. Noctis tries to mask the note of concern in his voice, but Ignis has spent too many years interpreting the emotion that lingers behind the other man’s indifferent tone to miss it now. “You want me to stay until Prom gets back?”

Ignis shakes his head gently, “No need. I have work to do, after all.”

He can feel Noctis’s hesitancy as he lingers in the lobby, debating whether or not to press.

Ignis smiles gently, a gesture of reassurance he isn’t sure he truly feels. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Don’t let Gladio hear you say that,” Noctis replies with some humor, and Ignis indulges him a small laugh. The feeling of Noctis’s hand settling on his shoulder does little to chase away the anxiety that has settled in his chest, but he finds that he misses it’s reassuring weight when it’s removed a moment later. “Try not to worry too much.”

And he _does_ try, attempting to focus his thoughts on anything but the letter that remains clutched in his fingers even after he’s entered the apartment, removing his shoes and flipping on all the lights in a series of familiar, automatic steps. For a brief moment, he considers calling Prompto, but the thought is quickly chased from his mind. No need to cause any additional stress.

He frowns, placing the envelope gently on the kitchen table before leaving the room.

Ignis tries to ignore it, but it’s presence lingers in the back of his mind, distracting him from every task he attempts to busy himself with. Again and again, he finds himself wandering back into the kitchen, staring at the spot where he knows the envelope sits as though he can divine it’s contents through thought and determination alone. It seems odd that one letter might hold so much weight, that the contents inside might forever change the structure of their daily lives.

After entering the kitchen for the fourth time, the documents he has been attempting to muddle through entirely forgotten, Ignis decides to bake instead.

What he prepares is of little consequence- it is the regimented and precise procedure that Ignis requires- but he finds only one recipe comes to mind. Somewhere between retrieving eggs from the refrigerator and sifting flour into a large bowl, Ignis allows himself to put words to the question that has been plaguing his mind since the moment this entire process began. Even thinking it, however, causes a restless anxiety to rise within him, filling him with an ache of guilt that he can’t seem to reason away.

Had they made the right decision?

He isn’t sure.

Without thought, Ignis reaches into the bottom cabinet to his left. His fingers find the smooth, metallic pan exactly where he expects to, in precisely the same place that he had left it last. The rest of the apartment is organized similarly, everything in its proper place. Even Prompto, who tore through life with the energy and care of a hurricane when they first met, has bent to this requirement, careful now to always push in his chair when he leaves the table, to place his shoes in the appropriate place away from the apartment’s main thoroughfares. Ignis depends upon this predictability for his life to function, after all.

It seems illogical to bring a child, chaos and volatility personified into one small body, intentionally into a home such as this.

But, somehow, the thought of being denied the chance for the same reasons seems even worse.

Ignis stirs the batter absently, sighing. 

And what do they know of being parents? Prompto, who only speaks of his birth father through the rough sobs that follow his abrupt departure from sleep, curled against Ignis’s chest with his fingers tangled tightly in the fabric of the sheets? Who only hears from his adoptive parents late at night on odd holidays, long after Prompto has given up hope for their call? Or Ignis, whose only memory of his parents is the fading recollection of a woman’s smile and the carved inscription on a headstone wreathed in white flowers?

_What right do we have to want this at all?_ he wonders.

Ignis pours the batter into the pan, placing it into the oven and setting a timer that mimics the correct number of minutes back to him in a tinny, artificial voice. Now without purpose, he sinks to the floor, the cool tile somehow far more appealing than the wood chairs that sit waiting across the room. Ignis finally removes the dark glasses he wears outside, running a hand roughly across his temple, as though he can physically force the uncertainty from his mind.

For a moment, the apartment is unbearably still. 

But if Ignis concentrates, he can imagine the sound of tiny feet padding along the hallway, loud and uncertain, as though taking first steps. He can hear the sound of Prompto’s laugh mingling with the shrieking delight of a child, babbled words of some secret, infant language drifting around corners to greet him when he returns home. He can feel a warm, dense weight settled in his arms, tiny fingers curled around his own in trusting sleep.

Suddenly, his chest feels unbearably tight.

The sounds of the front door opening pulls Ignis unceremoniously from his thoughts. Prompto enters in his usual fanfare of noise, tossing his keys onto the hallway table with a metallic clash as he groans loudly.

“Ugh, that took ages,” he announces to the silent apartment, and then a moment later when the smell of browning sugar has registered, “Wait, are you baking?”

Ignis doesn’t respond, and the sound of Prompto’s footsteps draw closer, pausing when they reach the kitchen door frame. Ignis wonders what he must look like. “Iggy?” Prompto asks, his voice painfully uncertain.

With the feeling of guilt welling up again, Ignis gestures to the table. “There’s a letter.” 

He can hear Prompto’s footsteps move to the table and the soft sound of paper sliding over wood as Prompto picks the envelope up and turns it over in his hands. Ignis finds himself holding his breath, waiting to hear the telltale tearing of paper, all the while listening closely for any change in Prompto’s breathing that might give away the contents. Instead, Prompto drops the letter back onto the table and makes his way across the kitchen, sinking down onto the cold tile floor next to Ignis with his back against the neighboring cabinet.

“You should open it,” Ignis says, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

Prompto leans in, bumping his shoulder against Ignis’s with some affection. “Nah, it can wait.”

They sit in silence for a time, seconds measured in the steady ticking of the timer Ignis had set earlier on the stove. Prompto laces their fingers together, and Ignis can feel the smooth metal of the ring that rests there press firmly against his skin.

“I’m not sure which outcome frightens me more.” Ignis admits eventually with a sigh, his voice strained.

“I get that,” Prompto replies and places his head against Ignis’s shoulder. Ignis glances down in his direction, somewhat surprised. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a great dad.”

“How can you be so certain?” Ignis asks.

“Well, for one thing, you practically raised Noct and he turned out fine.”

“I hardly think that counts,” Ignis replies, a small smile finding its way to the edges of his mouth, “And that’s not what I meant.”

Prompto exhales a small laugh. “I know.”

Silence falls again.

Prompto is quiet, evidently thinking. Not for the first time, Ignis wishes he could read the emotion in the other man’s face as he used to. It had once been so easy to tell what Prompto was feeling simply by glancing at his features.

“If they pick us-” Prompto says finally, his voice uncertain, “-we’ll figure it out. “

“And if they don’t?” Ignis asks quietly.

He can feel Prompto’s shrug against his shoulder. “Then we’ll get a cat.”

“A cat?”

“Yeah, one of those really fluffy ones with the squashed faces.”

Ignis grimaces in very apparent distaste. “Absolutely not.”

Prompto laughs.

The sounds of the timer chirping out it’s completion cuts over the sound, and Prompto pulls his hand back slowly. Ignis stands, the muscles of his legs complaining against the activity after so long in one position. He ignores it, reaching to silence the timer before opening the oven.

“You could’ve told me about this before, you know.” Prompto says from behind him as he watches Ignis remove the pastry from the oven.

Ignis nods, placing the pan on a cutting board that sits nearby. “I didn’t want to upset you.” 

He doesn’t expect to feel Prompto’s hands on his waist, turning him until they are facing once again. His hands reach up, settling against the back of Ignis’s neck, one thumb gently stroking the soft hair beneath his fingers.

“You don’t always have to be the strong one, dork,” Prompto says with affection, pulling Ignis down to press their foreheads together. 

Ignis exhales a deep breath, leaning into the touch. “I can try.”

“Martyr,” Prompto mutters, and Ignis can nearly hear the eye roll that accompanies it.

Ignis can’t help but kiss him then, pressing their lips together in a soft embrace that he hopes conveys some of the overwhelming gratitude he feels. Prompto smiles against his lips and Ignis’s heart still seems to swell even after so many years. 

When Prompto speaks again, his voice is soft. “Ready?”

Ignis nods, the gesture more certain than he feels.

“You should open it,” Prompto says, placing the letter into Ignis’s fingers.

He tears the paper gently, careful to only rip along the top fold as though controlling the tear will grant control over the contents as well. He can hear Prompto inhale sharply as he does so, the anticipation between them almost palpable in the oven warmed air of the room. Ignis reaches inside, and his fingers find the pages of several, glossy pages.

He hands the contents to Prompto.

He waits.


	3. Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Ignis smiles only when Prompto is around. Noct doesn't believe when Gladio says that."

“Would you look at that.”

Noctis glances up at Gladio from the screen of his phone, his eyebrows slightly raised, but too tired to be properly attentive. They’d taken on two hunts that day despite Ignis’s protests, knocking out a nest of saphyrtail before moving on to a group of flan. Prompto had nearly died twice before they’d realized that hacking away at the gelatinous blobs was having little to no effect; Noctis doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to eat custard again. Now safe around a haven campfire, he can feel the fatigue settling over him like a blanket where he sits, hunched over in his folding chair and longing, once again, for the comfort of a real bed.

“Look at what?”

Gladio grins, gesturing to Noctis’s left with a sharp nod of his head.

He follows Gladio’s gaze over to the makeshift kitchen where Ignis has already begun preparing the night’s dinner. Prompto had wandered over to join him at some point, mumbling excuses about helping as he had quit their game of King's Knight without warning, despite Noctis’s shouts of protest. He doesn’t seem to be doing much helping now, though, his hands splayed on the folding wooden prep table as he leans towards Ignis, chatting excitedly. Ignis responds from time to time, glancing in Prompto’s direction from where he stands stirring the pot on the stove with a small smile.

Noctis rolls his eyes, returning his attention to his phone. “They’re talking. So what?”

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?” Gladio snorts, kicking at Noctis’s boot with enough force that Noctis drops his phone, the device tumbling down to the rocky haven floor. _That_ wakes him up somewhat.

“Hey!” Noctis practically yells, reaching quickly for the phone and turning it over in his hands to make sure it hasn’t cracked. “What was that for?”

Gladio only shakes his head, ignoring Noctis’s outburst completely. “You ever remember Iggy smiling this much before?”

“Yeah, when he was tricking me into eating vegetables,” Noctis replies, aware that he is being completely uncooperative. He shoots Gladio a quick glare to drive the point.

But the sound of Ignis laughing draws Noctis’s attention again. He glances back to the stove, quick enough to see Ignis smiling widely from behind one gloved hand, as though surprised by the laugh that has just escaped him. Prompto is also grinning, his eyes fixed on Ignis with the sort of earnest intensity Noctis has only seen him direct at his camera and the occasional stray dog. They seem completely oblivious to the fact that he and Gladio are watching them from their positions at the fire, too engrossed in their conversation to notice that they have become the topic of debate.

Noctis pauses, brow furrowed as he observes. When _was_ the last time he’d heard Ignis laugh like that?

Not in the weeks that lead up to their departure from Insomnia, for sure, when tensions inside the citadel had been so high with preparations for the treaty that Noctis had only seen Ignis over the top of the papers the other had thrust towards him to review. And the months before that? Noctis realizes, with the smallest pang of guilt, that he had been too preoccupied with his own insecurities and doubts to consider Ignis’s happiness at all.

Prompto lilts his head to the side, evidently asking a question. Ignis nods his response and Prompto practically leaps to the other side of the table, tossing one arm over Ignis’s shoulder with enough force that Ignis has to reach up to adjust his glasses from where they’ve slid slightly down his nose. The sound of Prompto’s apologetic laughter floats over to where Noctis sits, and the blond boy pulls his arm back until only his palm is resting on Ignis’s shoulder. With his other hand, he reaches for the spoon that Ignis has been using to stir, plucking it from his fingers and dipping it into the pot to steal a taste. Noctis watches as Ignis hesitates, glancing down at the place where Prompto’s hand sits with a soft expression Noctis knows he has never seen on the man’s face before.

Noctis can’t help but smile gently to himself, his eyes trailing back to the phone in his hands. “Get a life, Gladio.”

He can hear Gladio chuckle over the crackling of the fire. “Hard to do when I’m stuck babysitting Prince Charmless here.”

“Dick,” Noctis mumbles under his breath. Apparently not quietly enough, though, because the next thing he hears is the sound of Gladio rising from his chair. Noctis has just enough time to look up before Gladio is on him, wrapping one gigantic arm around Noctis’s neck in an expert headlock. “Ugh, seriously?”

“Gotta teach you a lesson about respecting your elders,” Gladio laughs, completely impervious to the hands that grasp at his bicep as Noctis struggles to free himself. 

“If you two are quite finished-” Ignis’s voice interrupts suddenly, freezing both of them in place, “-dinner is ready.”

Gladiolus retreats, but not before reaching back to ruffle Noctis’s hair in one final, honorless attack. Ignoring Ignis’s chastising glance, Noctis punches Gladio’s arm roughly in retaliation- earning himself nothing but another mocking laugh from Gladio- before settling back into his own chair and accepting the bowl that Prompto has carried over from the stove.

As they eat, Noctis watches Prompto cast furtive glances toward Ignis when he thinks no one else is watching. 

Ignis, for his part, stares thoughtfully into his noodles with the same small smile Noctis had noticed earlier whenever the conversation lulls.

From across the campfire, Gladio catches his eye, the look on his face seeming to say ‘ _see, I told you_ ’ and Noctis shakes his head.

He wonders how long it will take the two of them to catch on. 

Knowing them both? Probably _ages_.

“What are you guys making faces about?” Prompto asks, glancing between him and Gladio with a high pitched note of apprehension in his voice, “… I’m going to find frogs in my sleeping bag again, aren’t I?”

Noctis only laughs.


	4. Dog Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Drabble. Promnis. Dog park."
> 
> There should definitely be a part 2 to this sometime in the future. I recognize this isn't really a drabble anymore, but I'm leaving it here as it was still a requested prompt!

The first thing you need to know is that it’s an absolutely perfect day.

The kind of day where the sky has found itself the most appealing shade of blue, the wind blowing just hard enough to send the few, fluffy clouds that managed to form drifting off into the horizon.

Prompto stands on the small strip of concrete that passes as his third-floor balcony, his elbows resting on the metal railing as he stares down to the street below. It’s late enough that most of the morning commuters have already found their way onto the buses and trains that will take them downtown, but Prompto still spots the occasional suit hurrying across the street to hail an oncoming cab. He watches them through the viewfinder of his camera, occasionally pressing the shutter when the lighting seems right or a particular person catches his eye.

From behind him, he can hear the sound of Pryna’s paws against the hardwood floor, her nails clicking out a steady rhythm as she makes her way to the end of the hallway. He opens the screen door for her and she steps out onto the patio, sticking her head between the metal bars and barking happily at the squirrel that scrambles through the tree in front of them.

“Look who’s finally up,” he laughs, reaching down to scratch absently behind her ears. Prompto knows she can’t actually understand him, but it’s hard to remember when she glances up at him and replies with a short bark and a wag of her tail, almost like she’s trying to answer him.

The next thing you need to know is that Pryna, a forty pound shiba inu mix with white fur, cream patches, and almost unnerving blue eyes, is not Prompto’s dog at all.

Last Tuesday morning he’d opened his front door to find Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, the french exchange student he’d literally bumped into one day in college, who was supposed to return home at the end of the semester but ended up staying (largely due to the softly blushing presence of Prompto’s best friend), standing there with a large suitcase and Pyrna’s leash in hand.

The suitcase, Prompto would later find out, was for Pyrna.

“Could you?” Luna had asked him, turning the full force of her pale blue eyes on him. “It would only be for a few weeks at most. This has all been so sudden, and you know how she is with strangers.”

Prompto’s building didn’t allow dogs, but that hadn’t stopped him from nodding his head a little too enthusiastically, grabbing the loop of Pryna’s leash from Luna’s outstretched fingers with enough excitement that she had actually laughed.

“What about Umbra?” he’d asked. His apartment was too small for one dog, let alone two, but the idea that Luna’s other dog, identical to Pyrna in nearly every way except for his deep, brown coloring, would be separated from his sister for so long made him uneasy.

Luna had only smiled. “With another friend. They’ll be fine apart for such a short while.”

Prompto had been so thrilled to be referred to as a friend that he hadn’t pressed further.

Small apartment aside, it’d was easier than Prompto had imagined to fall into a routine with his new house guest. He already woke early every morning to run; once he’d learned that Pryna enjoyed running too, padding easily at his side with a large stick in her mouth, things had gone great. They made a point to stop at the patch of grass near his apartment that passed as a park as often as they could, where Prompto would unhook her leash and throw the stick as hard as he could manage. He’d been worried, at first, that she might be too distracted by the noise of the oncoming cars and the unfamiliar surroundings, but each time she brought the stick back, dropping it at his feet and wagging her tail as if to say _again_.  
And so, only a week had gone by, but Prompto was already finding himself attached.

“We should do something different today,” Prompto muses, placing the camera down on a small table at the end of the balcony and regarding Pryna thoughtfully, “What about the dog park?”

Pryna wags her tail enthusiastically, settling the matter once and for all.

There’s no dog park in his neighborhood, so Prompto leads Pryna down to where his car is parked on the street. It’s covered in a dusting of dried leaves and pollen- he doesn’t drive often- and Prompto brushes it away from the windshield with one arm before opening the doors. Pryna climbs into the back seat obligingly, laying down across the dark interior in a comfortable flop. As she does so, a cloud of white fur goes flying out in all directions, quickly embedding itself into all nearby surfaces.

Prompto sighs, making a mental note to brush her later, before starting the car and driving off.

He isn’t sure who is more excited as they pull into a parking spot near one of the park’s edges, Pryna who wags her tail faster than Prompto has ever seen it move as he opens the door to the car, or himself. Pryna jumps out of the car easily, waiting for Prompto to grab the loose end of her leash before making her way to the gate.

And when they get inside? Neither of them are disappointed; the dog park is _literally_ the most fantastic place Prompto has ever been. And he’d been to Legoland. Twice.

For one thing, it’s _huge_. You could fit at least three of the parks by Prompto’s house into the grassy, fenced in area reserved just for dogs. For another, the second Prompto steps beyond the fence he’s swarmed by so many dogs that he’s pretty sure he knows what heaven looks like now. Pryna takes off instantly, bouncing her way around the park to meet each new dog that she encounters. Prompto collapses somewhere in the middle of the field, laughing as several dogs gather around him to be pet.

He isn’t sure how much time passes as he sits there, snapping a few action shots here and there as the dogs racing around the park and wrestle. He doesn’t even realize that he hasn’t seen Pryna in a while until one of the other owners comes jogging up to him, gesturing to one of the corners of the park with a concerned frown.

“Isn’t that your dog?”

Prompto turns in the pointed direction, just quickly enough to see the white, fuzzy back half of Pryna squeeze under the fence and take off across the playground.

“ _Shit_.”

From there, adrenaline basically takes over. Prompto is up on his feet and sprinting across the dog park before he’s even aware that he’s moved. The only thing he can think about as he runs is how sad Luna’s voice will be when he has to call and tell her he lost her dog. How Noct will probably stop being his friend altogether after he learns how badly Prompto has disappointed his girlfriend. How heartbreaking it will be to know that Pryna will be wandering through the city, alone and scared. He places his hands on the top bar of the chain link fence and vaults over easily, barely losing speed.

Up ahead, he can just barely see Pryna turning the corner at the edge of the street, but even running as fast as he can, he’s no match for her. By the time he turns the corner, she’s completely gone from sight. Prompto stops, falling down to brace his hands on his knees as he wheezes out a series of deep breaths.

“I take it this belongs to you?” comes a voice to his right, low and rounded at the edges with an accent that could be British, but Prompto is in no state to say for sure.

He turns quickly toward the voice, relief washing over him as he spots Pryna caught by the collar in the grip of the man who had spoken. She wags her tail innocently as Prompto jogs the rest of the way over, trying to ignore the way his breath catches in his chest both from emotion and sprinting so long.

“Dude, you scared the crap out of me!” he announces, crouching down in front of her and reaching out to ruffle the fur around her face with equal parts relief and frustration. She barks happily back at him and sits, seemingly content now that she’s nearly given him a heart attack.

“She seemed to come straight to me, oddly enough,” the voice is saying, and Prompto pushes off his knees to stand again. He’d gotten lucky, then. Pryna was usually weird about meeting new people.

“Thank you so-” he makes to start, but then Prompto finally glances at the man currently holding his dog, and his breath is gone all over again, “- much?”

Because the third thing you need to know is that the person holding Pryna’s collar is the most attractive man Prompto has ever seen. _Ever_. And that actually means something when your best friend is Noctis Lucis Caelum, widely hailed as the most eligible bachelor in the city.

He notices the man’s eyes first, an unreal shade of bright green meeting his from behind a pair of glasses that look like they were created from scratch to be as perfect as possible for his face. Everything about him seems to be perfect, though, from the way his button down shirt seems to have been intentionally tailored to show off the shape of his torso down to his perfectly pressed slacks- that just so happen to be decorated by a haphazard dusting of pure white fur.

“Oh my god, she got hair all over you,” Prompto says in a rush, reaching out to grab Pryna’s collar and maneuvering her a safe distance away where she can’t ruin any other parts of the man’s perfect clothing.

“That’s quite alright,” he replies, giving Pryna a final pat before reaching into the briefcase that hangs at his side and producing a tiny lint roller. Even his _fingers_ are elegant, Prompto notices, long and slim and- _oh god, he’s staring again_. “One learns to be prepared. I never seem to make it out of the house without some amount of fur finding it’s way onto my clothing.” 

“You have pets?” Prompto asks, in a tone that he hopes comes across as politely interested and not as creepy as he imagines he sounds.

“Not typically,” the stranger replies, “but I’ve been tasked with dog sitting for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh.” Prompto replies, blinking with some surprise at the coincidence, “Same here.”

The other man smiles, just the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth, and if Prompto hadn’t been sweating before, he definitely is now. “Then perhaps we’ll see each other again. He and I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time at this park, after all.”

“Yeah, cool,” Prompto says, trying to sound unaffected but internally wincing at how stupid he must sound, “Um, I’m Prompto, by the way.”

“Ignis,” he responds and offers Prompto one of those perfect hands to shake. What follows is an awkward moment where Prompto moves to switch the hand he has holding Pryna’s collar while also subtly wiping his palm (and the sweat, dirt, and dog slobber with it) against his pants. 

If Ignis notices he- thankfully- doesn’t comment. “Until next time, Prompto.”

Prompto nods, too busy panicking at the warmth that spreads through him at the sound of his name in that accent to reply coherently. Ignis smiles once again before turning- probably to continue on to wherever he was going before Pryna interrupted.

He doesn’t realize until Ignis is most of the way down the block that, for one thing, he’d never finished thanking him for saving Prompto from a life of friendless misery. For another, he’s been watching Ignis walk away for a good two minutes now. Like a giant creep. 

“What just happened?” he wonders out loud.

Pryna glances up at him, wagging her tail enthusiastically and looking far too pleased with herself. 

She doesn’t seem to be making any move to escape now and if Prompto didn’t know better, he might think she _planned_ this. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, giving her his best glare.

She barks happily.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out with me at my [tumblr](http://ronsenburg.tumblr.com/) and send me a prompt if you'd like!


End file.
